


Kick Off Your Sunday Shoes

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, Foot Fetish, Hand Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the DW kink meme: Jack loves Pitch's hands; Pitch loves Jack's feet. It's that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick Off Your Sunday Shoes

Jack knew he had a weakness for Pitch's hands from damn near the first time they met. Pitch's hands were elegant and eloquent, long fingers spelling out words as clearly as his cut-glass accent did, and while Jack appreciated the always exposed line of Pitch's neck down to his stomach, he preferred the subtler eroticism of Pitch's bare wrists. 

Of course, subtle eroticism went out the window when Jack got to suck on Pitch's fingers or feel them opening him up, curving to rub against his prostate almost effortlessly.

Jack was helpless whenever Pitch's hands were involved, but he accepted that helplessness and Pitch seemed happy enough to indulge Jack's interest. Pitch having a kink of his own was only fair.

Jack just didn't expect it to be a peculiar one.

 

At first Jack guessed Pitch loved his ears best, given how often they ended up nipped by sharp teeth, or caressed during a blow-job. Later he guessed it was his ass; Pitch certainly lavished attention on it, biting and groping to his heart's content, sometimes fingering or rimming Jack until Jack literally begged to come.

Jack had got off on fingering alone, once, and Pitch never let him live it down.

It took being damn near slapped in the face by Pitch's kink for Jack to recognise it. Pitch hated feeling vulnerable, hid his positive weaknesses as well as his negative ones, and if they had not spent one New Year's Eve getting spectacularly drunk, Jack doubted he would have uncovered Pitch's kink that decade.

 

The club's occupants were too drunk to notice a drop in temperature as Jack and Pitch passed through them, and it was easy to join them in intoxication by finding abandoned bottles then draining the contents. Jack had enjoyed the secret exhibitionism of kissing Pitch in a crowd that could not see either of them, and quickly decided he wanted to take it a step further, dragging Pitch with him backstage. Pitch had paid little attention to the stage dancers' uniforms when worn by humans, but after Jack struggled into stiletto heels, he didn't get a chance to strip any further before Pitch dropped to his knees and buried his face in Jack's crotch.

Jack thought it was the crossdressing element of wearing heels that had driven Pitch wild, but paying attention soon revealed it was his feet, with or without accessories, that made Pitch lose all reason. Jack had never given his feet much thought before - they were just tools, transport - and the idea of someone finding them attractive was funny.

Nonetheless, Pitch always lingered between Jack's legs during foreplay, keeping Jack's feet in his peripheral vision for as long as possible. Pitch always watched Jack dance along electric cables or balance on the crook of his staff with a keen, quietly hungry eye.

Time alone with Pitch had taught Jack that while Pitch would willingly ask for what he wanted, he rarely asked for what he needed. Pitch feared the exploitation of others, feared being judged for who he was rather than what he was. A nightmare king still had to be a king, after all, and that meant appearing invulnerable.

 

Jack decided it would be better to act than to ask, and he wasn't above deception. Splintered glacier mint played the part of the glass he had supposedly stepped on, corn syrup the part of the blood from his wound, and when Jack flew down to Pitch's lair to show off his "injured" foot to Pitch and demand attention, he was careful to look angry.

Pitch went very quiet and very still, not touching Jack's foot at first, looking up at him with a reserved expression. "Since when am I your doctor?"

"Some boyfriend you are," Jack sighed dramatically, lying down on the floor with his feet in the air. "I could always ask someone else to kiss it better, I guess."

Pitch set down the book he had been trying and failing to read, his cool fingers wrapping around Jack's ankle a moment later, and Jack fought the urge to bite his lip. "Aren't you a little old for boo-boos?"

Jack winked, wriggled the toes of his supposedly sore foot and hissed. He definitely deserved an Oscar for this performance. "Only by a few hundred years. Come on, Pitch, please? It stings like hell."

Pitch knelt down between Jack's legs, holding Jack's bad foot by the ankle and allowing the good foot to rest on his shoulder as he picked out the mint "glass", flicking each shard away once he was done.

Jack watched Pitch work for a while before noticing Pitch's expression take a dark turn.

"This isn't blood."

Jack knew better than to lie, and he reached up, touched his fingers to the hand still clutching his ankle. "I know. It's just corn syrup. I was waiting for you to taste it."

Pitch looked at Jack long and hard before lifting Jack's foot to his lips, closing his eyes, and licking it. Jack shivered, both feet tensing at the unfamiliar sensation, but as Pitch continued to lick away the sticky traces of corn syrup Jack couldn't help enjoying the attention. Pitch's tongue was long and thin and clever, much like Pitch himself, and Jack's hiss when Pitch sucked on his big toe wasn't forced.

Pitch's snarl when Jack lowered his free foot and pressed it against Pitch's crotch was no less real. "You little fucker," Pitch spat, but his heavy-lidded eyes and purple-flushed cheeks told a different story to his words. 

"I'm the worst," Jack replied, grinning as he rubbed his foot against the hard swell of Pitch's erection, and wholly unsurprised when Pitch shoved his legs apart and ground up against him roughly.

He was, however, a little surprised when two fully-clothed thrusts later Pitch shuddered and grunted in a very familiar way, flushed with embarrassment and arousal as he came.

 

Jack made sure to lavish attention on Pitch afterwards, refusing to let him run and hide from Jack's decision to embrace his weakness. Jack stripped away Pitch's leggings, licked him clean and kissed the taut skin of his thighs, didn't try to make eye contact until he was sure Pitch had recovered from the worst of his discomfort.

It was tempting to try and soothe Pitch with words - with reassurance and gentle teasing - but Pitch tended to take words to heart, and it was less risky for Jack to demonstrate his acceptance with gestures than with words.

Jack waited for Pitch to grow hard again, waited until he could wrap a hand around both their cocks and stroke, before he told Pitch between kisses, "It's okay. You're weird, but you're my weirdo."

 

Pitch sulked for the better part of a month afterwards, but after he decided to forgive Jack, he began to spoil Jack's feet rotten. Now that Pitch didn't have to hide his fixation, he allowed himself to touch Jack's feet often, though at first only in bed with kisses and caresses before he would turn his attention to more demanding parts of Jack's body. 

As time passed and his weakness became a less urgent thing, the touches ceased to be foreplay only, and Pitch would massage Jack's feet during their quieter moments together. It was a perfect indulgence for both of them because Jack got to feel and watch Pitch's hands work, while Pitch developed an intimate understanding of Jack's feet, their curves and straights and ticklish spots.

Sometimes the massages would lead to sex. Sometimes they wouldn't. Jack appreciated both outcomes.

 

Jack didn't believe in good omens or bad omens much. Centuries on Earth had taught him not to put too much trust in any one thing or person.

Even so, when he and Pitch both broke their promise to forget about Christmas presents, he thought it was a hopeful sign.

After hand cream and foot lotion had been exchanged, and they both opened their second gifts to find nail polish, Jack decided that was much better than just hopeful.

 

If anyone other than Sandy noticed Jack's glittery toed, lavender scented feet when Jack turned up to North's post-Christmas celebration, they had the good graces not to comment.

Sandy's thumbs up and smirk said all that needed saying.

And Sandy's gift of black stiletto heels said a little more.


End file.
